


prove me wrong

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cute, Gen, M/M, what even is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:07:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles sucks at dressing himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	prove me wrong

**Author's Note:**

> i should be writing every other fic under the moon other than this one, but i took prompts at my tumblr a few days ago, and i figured it was about time i posted a fic from that.
> 
> written for the prompt, "danny runs into stiles while he’s shopping for clothes and gets dragged into helping stiles find stuff that looks good on him (for some reason this is preslash in my head but IF YOU LIKE IT I BELIEVE YOU CAN MAKE IT WORK) <3"
> 
> i hope you like this bb! i'm not sure if this is exactly what you wanted, but.

 

Stiles sucks at dressing himself.

He doesn't like shopping--when it's for clothes, at least, because clothes and clothes and he's never really fussed too much about what fit of jeans made his ass look the best, or how big his arms looked in a too-tight shirt--and he and his father employ the 'grab, squint and hope' method, where they grab whatever is on sale at Walmart that looks to be roughly their size, and hope that it fits when they get home.

Stiles knows that he's not the best dresser, has for a while now. He has a soft spot for witty, childish t-shirts and survives on his father's small-town sheriff's income. There isn't exactly a lot of money for him to go get decent clothing.

It's worked well so far for him. He's not complaining.

Only, Daisy keeps pestering him about how if he's going to keep turning up at The Jungle whenever it's Teen Night that he'll have to update his closet ("I won't be seen with someone who doesn't know how to dress themself" Daisy said, matter-of-fact, gesturing to Stiles’ t-shirt. He found it on clearance for three dollars at Walmart. It had Iron Man on it; he thought it was pretty cool.

Who could hate Robert Downey Jr, really?

He squinted. "I don't see what the big deal is," his arms flailed around on their own accord. He'd probably had too much caffeine to be healthy--he always had too much, if he was being honest, though, but it was easier lying to himself than facing a possible addiction.

Well, that’s what he was telling himself, anyway.

“The ‘big deal--’” She was using quotation marks and everything, which was unnecessary, really. “Is in the fact that you don’t see it as one.”

Stiles had a retort on the tip of his tongue, but closed his mouth on it. Daisy was probably right, anyway, and he did have some birthday money saved up he still hadn’t used).

Which is why he’s in Express or some other store in the mall that is way too expensive, and he’s looking at three different pairs of pants that all look the same but claim to do different things--it’ll be a day too soon if he ever has to come across another ‘Butt Hugging Jean.’ They don’t sound remotely comfortable, no matter what the guy’s smile in the ad is suggesting. He’s never seen shopping as a confusing experience, it was just somewhat of a more tedious one, but every muscle in his body is screaming at him to just run into a Sears or something. Those are better than Walmart, right?

“Stiles?”

He looks up from the pairs of pants, and there’s Danny, looking at him somewhat curiously, eyebrows furrowed and utterly devastating. Stiles may or may not have an unacknowledged _thing_ for Danny. One that he’s been ignoring for a long time.

Danny likes almost everyone, and everyone likes Danny; he's the type of guy that will accidentally run into you in the hallway, and then he'll flash those infuriatingly cute dimples at you and will mutter soft and sincere apologizes, ultimately leaving you feeling like the asshole who bumped into some innocent kid in the hallway. Not that Stiles would know, or anything, because Stiles is pretty sure Danny hates him in the way he wasn't previously sure Danny could hate things.

It's not like he means to have Beacon Hills' most likable person hate him, it's just a thing that happens. One moment he and Danny are working on their eighth grade science project together, and the next Stiles has actually spilled acidic orange juice all over one of Danny's prized comic book collectibles (Stiles has the replacement, sitting in his closet still. He hasn't given it to Danny, yet, because he's not sure what he's afraid of more: Danny actually appreciating it and making him feel even shittier, or Danny hating it and making him feel twice as shitty as shittier.

After three years, it’s still sitting there.

Stiles should probably throw it out, or give it away, or donate it, or _something_ , because he has no use for a Nightwing collectible--he doesn't even like DC all that much, aside from Batman, so it's like, completely pointless--but every time he thinks about giving it to someone who isn't Danny, a sharp and bright pang stabs through his chest at the thought, and he can't).

“Oh, hey Danny,” Stiles drawls, leaning up against the rack. It makes this really horrible screeching sound, like it’s about to fall, and Stiles just--

Flails off of it.

“Stilinski,” Danny says, his mouth a straight line.

“What’re you doing here?” Stiles asks, but what he really means to ask is, _why are you talking to me?_ Because Stiles has long since come to terms with the fact that Danny will avoid all unnecessary contact with Stiles for as long as he can. 

“Shopping,” Danny says, and he’s about to walk away, but before he can Stiles reaches out a hand and grabs his arm. He can feel the muscles contracting under his fingers, and it takes everything in him to keep from making a really embarrassing noise.

“You can help me!” Stiles says brightly. “Daisy says I need to revamp my wardrobe if I’m going to keep being seen with her, and well, I figured I should probably take her advice. No one likes going to a gay club alone.”

Danny’s brow furrows. It’s kind of endearing--everything about Danny is endearing, actually, but Stiles refuses to think about it too much. That’s just--

It’s not something he’s willing to get into.

At least not right now. In  _front_ Danny.

“Why are you going to gay clubs now?” Danny asks, with a sigh.

Stiles stares at him. “Dude, for a gay guy, you have really shit gaydar.”

“Everyone knows you’re bisexual, Stiles.”

Stiles gapes. “I--what?” Because he’s pretty sure he’s only ever told Scott that--well, and technically his father, but that was an ill-advised, sleep-deprived conversation that they don’t talk about. It was mortifying and Stiles isn’t even sure it was a coming-out experience more than just a one-sided conversation where Stiles babbled about how ‘guys are hot, too, and dad, I can totally be gay, okay. Only I’m not. I’m bi, but I could gay regardless of the state of my closet’--and Scott is a pretty good when it comes to keep shit like that to himself.

Unless he’s drunk.

But, he doesn’t get drunk anymore, because, _werewolf_.

“How?” Stiles asks, throat feeling dry.

It’s not that he’s embarrassed, not exactly. It’s not that he thinks people will look at him differently either--and they might, actually, because he’s only ever really been seen as painfully straight, with his long standing and unattainable crush on Lydia Martin. And it’s not exactly like the people of Beacon Hills take well to change, but he’s not worried about that--it’s that he wanted everyone to know when he was ready for them to know.

Danny looks around, completely oblivious to Stiles’ obvious discomfort (or maybe he’s just really good at pretending Stiles isn’t about to have an aneurysm; there’s something mortifying about coming out inadvertently to your gay-crush, okay), and then fixes Stiles with a look. A disappointed look. Stiles didn’t know that Danny cared enough to look all disappointed at him, but it sends a hopeful thrill through him at the thought. “You and Scott really need to be careful about what you guys shout in the hallways at each other.”

He sounds accusatory.

Stiles shouldn’t find that attractive, but he does.

“Oh.” Stiles can feel the flush that’s probably taking over his entire face right now.

“The whole school probably knows about,” Danny looks around again, paranoid--at least he has some self-preservation, Stiles thinks, sort of bitterly. His died a long time ago--and notably lowers his voice. “werewolves. Thanks to you two.”

Stiles doesn’t know the dirty details on how Danny found out about the supernatural. One day Danny was blissfully oblivious--he was one more person he didn't have to worry about getting caught in the fray; he had voted keeping him in the dark as long as possible, really--and the next he cornered Stiles in the hallway asking for all of the information he knew about werewolves.

“We’re careful,” Stiles says defensively, even though they’re really, really not. Judging by the look Danny shoots at him, simultaneously unamused and discouraging at once, he knows he knows it, too.

“Not really,” Danny says, but there’s a quirk to his mouth now.

Stiles can’t help but smile at him, because Danny is the kind of person you smile at. Stiles is not actually convinced that Danny isn’t made up of everything good all smashed together in one impossible human being. He may or may not have been constructed in a laboratory (Danny wasn’t born here. It’s possible, okay).

Stiles hasn't completely developed this theory, but he's working on it.

“So,” Stiles says, unable to keep the hopeful tilt out of his voice. “Will you help me?”

Danny sighs. “Sure,” he says, finally. “S’not like I have anything better to do.”

Stiles ignores Danny implying he’s his last resort, and instead gestures helplessly to the rack of pants he was staring at earlier. “Do all of these really do a different thing?”

Danny blinks. “Yes?”

“You don’t sound so sure,” Stiles says, accusatory, but there’s no real heat.

“I’m not sure why you’re asking?”

“They all look the same.”

“Well, yeah,” Danny agrees.

“But they do different things,” Stiles clarifies.

“Yes, Stiles.”

“What one do I want?”

Stiles really doesn’t know.

Stiles hates not knowing.

Danny shrugs. “Probably the Ass Hugging Jean,” he says eventually, each word sounding like it’s been ripped from his throat. There’s an embarrassed flush coloring his cheeks now, like he would rather be anywhere else, and Stiles can’t help but wonder what’s making him so damn uncomfortable. “If you’re going to be wearing them out to _The Jungle_ , that is.”

“I will be.”

“Pick those.”

Stiles finds his size, eventually, and ignoring the absolute panic that fills his chests when he looks at the price--who the fuck pays ninety bucks for a pair of _jeans_ \--he throws them over his shoulder and shrugs. “Dude, I owe you.”

“How about,” Danny starts. “We never speak about this to anyone again.”

Stiles nods, frantically, because he would very much like that to be a thing. “Agreed.”

*

Stiles wears the jeans to school on Monday, because he wakes up late and they’re the first clean pair of jeans he sees after he brushes his teeth that morning. He also throws on one of the v-necks Danny cajoled him into buying before he left the store--it’s a deep red color, and Stiles must admit, it looks nice against his pale complexion. 

He’s running down the hallway when he feels a pair of eyes on him, burning holes into his back.

He turns around.

It’s--

Danny is _staring_ at him.

Stiles can’t help but grin, because he’s making Danny stare, fuck yeah. The moment is ruined when he trips over a book that dropped out of some girl’s locker, though, but that’s okay, because when he picks himself back up, Danny’s still looking at him, like Stiles is a prize at a fair he wants to completely unravel, and well, Stiles kind of likes that.

Stiles likes that a lot.

*

Stiles goes back to buy another pair of them in a different color.

He’s not the least bit ashamed.

*

The second time he wears them, Danny corners him against a locker and asks him out--he fumbles over his words, a little, and Stiles has never seen anything more adorable, and that’s including the time Scott found an abandoned baby squirrel in his backyard the summer before freshman year and pestered Stiles into helping him take care of it (the squirrel was cute, and oddly affectionate for such a fearful animal; the day they let her go was also the first time he had seen Scott cry. That, had _not_ been as adorable).

Stiles smiles at him, and he can feel it taking over his entire face, which probably isn’t the most attractive thing ever, but with the smile Danny throws at him in return, he thinks maybe Danny doesn’t mind so much.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes, catches Danny’s eye. He can hear his heart pounding in his ears, and he’s never liked the sound more. “Yeah, I like the sound of that.”

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to follow me/chat me up on my tumblr:
> 
> noelfisha.tumblr.com


End file.
